Achilles heel
by Thefreakoutsideyourwindow
Summary: Alfred loved running. He had loved it ever since he was a child, but reality always seems to have other plans. One-shot.


**Disclaimer: I won nothing. I also own nothing. This is a really common typo in my disclaimers.**

**A/N: Hello again fellow readers, I'm going to try something a little different this time, so I hope it doesn't turn out too badly! Inspiration is a random and spontaneous thing. Hope you like it!**

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**Achilles heel**

Alfred loved running.

He had loved it ever since he was a child, the liberating feeling of muscles rippling under each powerful stride as the wind raced alongside him, encouraging him by ruffling his hair, as if saying, 'Good try, sport, but you've gotta go faster to beat me!'. He ran not so that he would build more muscles or be less self conscious- no. He loved running because running felt like just as much a part of him as he did a part of it, and that was something he could never live without. Heck, running itself had landed him his partner that helped him chase away his troubles.

Arthur Kirkland was the type of man you could see mastering the stock exchange market, driving a roles Royce and yelling at anyone that dared even look at his lawn with the intention of stepping upon the neatly trimmed grass. So when he had bumped into the man when running, he was not pleased to say the least- infuriated really. Precious items had been damaged beyond repair and Alfred had spent the whole week repaying the man, though throughout that time they soon became friends and would often run together.

Time passed far faster than they had realised and they soon discovered their 'friendship' to be blossoming into something more. When you're in love with a person, you tend to forget there's a big wide world out there, always changing and constantly tripping you up, moving at an increasingly faster pace that no brand of running shoes can help you keep up with.

And because of that, Arthur had been left behind.

He had tried. Alfred had really, _**really **_tried to help him catch up, but Arthur was just too slow. He had waited, and _waited _and _**waited**_ and God dammit Arthur was never quick enough, and for that reason Alfred had left him, praying that he would catch up to him but knowing, secretly, that he never would. It was that thought, that knowledge, that plagued him every waking second, expecting to feel his sweaty hand encased within another and feeling deep grief realising that there never would be again.

And then Alfred had stopped running.

Running, which had once been his life, what had once expanded his life, was now doing nothing but prolonging it, prolonging the heartache. And so day by day, Alfred ran less and less, and his troubles got closer and closer. He faced the problems head on, beating them all by himself, relentless until he was sweaty and exhausted, feeling boneless and just wishing to collapse right there and then.

It was for that reason and many others that he didn't notice the final problem sneaking up on him until it was grabbing him, pulling Alfred down to the ground and sinking it's rotten and sickly yellowed teeth into the youthful and resilient flesh of his heels. It took a round of a shotgun to kill the zombie.

Observing the damage with a casual glance, Alfred saw that both of his ankles and been savagely destroyed, leaving shredded Achilles tendons in the wake of the quickly forming pools of crimson. A bitter smile which turned into a watery grimace was formed upon his face with the grim realisation that, indeed, he had run out of bandages a long time ago, and there was no way he'd survive this much blood loss without help.

With a bitter sigh he resigned himself to his undeniable end, gazing longingly up at the rotten and moldy shopping centre ceiling, thinking back to the days when this place would have been clean, filled to the brim with chatter and laughter. He really missed the days when he could run with Arthur, could pretend that the war hadn't happened, that the human populating was quickly dwindling into savage counterparts, barely human. Arthur had been his Achilles heel, because he had allowed him to pretend. And as they say, ignorance is bliss. But there is no place for bliss in a harsh world like this.


End file.
